


This is not Loyalty

by Defira



Series: Wild Mage [8]
Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-22
Updated: 2014-08-22
Packaged: 2018-02-14 05:25:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 6,642
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2179569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Defira/pseuds/Defira
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After their confrontation in the Chantry, Cullen and Corinne Trevelyan haven't had a chance to build back the uneasy peace that used to exist between them. Her powers continue to unnerve him, and her fascination in prodding at his pride at inopportune moments frustrates him further. </p><p>Mages are not to be trusted, of this he is certain- but he has no idea what to do about a mage determined to have his trust.</p><p>A continuation from "For I Was Blind"</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> As with For I Was Blind, to be considered vaguely AU to Corinne's main story

_Get some sleep_ \- as if it were ever that easy. 

As if sleep didn’t bring with it a whole new host of problems, insomnia and anxiety and terrifying nightmares that left him clawing to wakefulness in a cold sweat, heart pounding and panic surging in his veins. As if he hadn’t damn well had a decade to come to terms with the survivor’s guilt and paranoia, the unending weariness that came from ten years of bad sleep and nerves that never settled and shaking hands that had nothing to do with his growing need for lyrium. 

He’d gotten better at ignoring it all- or at least, of learning to adapt his life around the worst of it, and continue on in a fashion that resembled normal.

Or useful, rather. He knew how to grit his teeth through the days when his eyes felt like they were full of sand and his head felt ready to explode, and make himself useful instead. If he was useful, he had potential, and he wouldn’t find himself alone with the demons in his memories. 

And it had served him well, as far as coping mechanisms went- until Corinne Trevelyan had cornered him in the chantry hall of Skyhold one night three weeks back, and had needled him with her questions that had hit a little too close to home. 

Her words had settled under his skin, far too insightful for someone with whom he had only shared a handful of polite conversations with prior to that night. 

_But that was what mages did, wasn’t it?_ It was a quarrelsome whisper in his head in the hours before dawn when sleep eluded him. _They played games with men’s thoughts, prying into the darkest parts of their souls, and taking what they needed to further their own agendas._

He kept a healthy supply of candles in his quarters, and on the worst nights he kept a light burning throughout all the dark hours until morning. 

After their late night conversation in the chapel, Corinne had been called away on the business of the Inquisition, and he hadn’t needed to consider her offer to visit her for help with, well, _everything_. Or rather, he hadn’t needed to worry about whether or not to take her up on it, because she wasn’t around to stare pointedly at him for putting it off. He had considered it _endlessly_ , turning her words over in his head a thousand times until the headaches set in again. 

He didn’t need her magic, or her unnerving interest in his welfare. How could she possibly have known about the night terrors- and to that end, what else did she know that she wasn’t saying? She wasn’t a healer, after all, and their discussions prior to that evening had been rather detached and purely professional. Her sudden curiosity and abrupt offer of assistance- the more he thought about it- made him uneasy. 

But then his thoughts would swing back in the other direction, to surprised humility. He couldn’t recall the last time someone had enquired after his health, or made any indication that they cared for his well-being beyond his ability to perform his duties. A lot of the older soldiers at the Gallows had been resentful of his meteoric rise through the ranks, disrupting the balance of power, and a lot of the younger soldiers had been intimidated by him- he’d had their loyalty, he didn’t doubt, but their friendship?

Was that even what Corinne was extending to him?

 _Mages are not people like you and I._ His words echoed through his ears each night as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling and hoping that exhaustion would take him. _They are not to be trusted._

Was it the hand of the Maker that saw him now under the command of a mage- and a peculiar one at that? Was this some grand lesson in humility, to teach him the folly of his words and his anger? She had certainly recognised his subtle recalcitrance for what it was, and had rightly called him on it. 

For three weeks he had wavered back and forth, resentment and fear warring with hesitant optimism and faith. He had sworn his loyalty to her, and she had questioned his commitment to those vows; he did not need to be a mage himself to read her thoughts and know that she was genuinely weighing up his usefulness to her. 

He had to decide truly if his heart was in this path he had been set upon- and he supposed he should at least thank her for being frank with him. 

“Did you have something to contribute, Commander?” 

Cullen looked up with a start, blinking in confusion as his surroundings came rushing back to him; a dozen curious faces were turned in his direction, their expressions ranging from amused at his evident distraction to annoyed at the interruption he was causing. 

Corinne had returned to Skyhold earlier that afternoon and had convened the War Council to discuss the latest developments in the world beyond. Right as of this moment, he had to admit that he had no idea what any of those developments were.

He cleared his throat awkwardly, sitting forward. “Apologies, Inquisitor,” he said gruffly. “My thoughts were elsewhere.”

She sat on the far side of the table between Josephine and Enchanter Vivienne, and their reactions were somewhat telling- Vivienne cast her eyes towards the roof and murmured under her breath, while Josephine quite visibly fought back a smile. Corinne was lounging back in her chair, hardly the picture of the fearsome leader of the free world with her feet up on the table, and at Vivienne’s muttered frustration she grinned and put her hand over hers, scrunching her nose at her in some strange sort of grin that he assumed meant something to the other woman. Vivienne rolled her eyes, but she was smiling when she looked away. 

Corinne, apparently satisfied with Vivienne’s response, turned back to him. “Is there anything we can do to tempt your thoughts back to us, Commander?” she asked plainly, toying with a little horse figurine from the map in the centre of the table. “Are you in need of assistance to chase them down?”

Her comments drew a round of laughter from those assembled, and Cullen reddened. “I apologise for my distraction,” he said stiffly. “It will not happen again, I assure you.”

“Is there something keeping you up at night, Commander?” she asked, not with the practised innocence of a coquette but with a bluntness that made it questionable as to whether or not she even realised how such a query could be taken in mixed company. “Still not sleeping well, I see.”

At that, The Iron Bull let out a hearty bellow of laughter and Vilas cursed crossly, standing up from his seat at the table and fishing around in his belt with a scowl on his face. He dug out what appeared to be a coin purse and tossed it at the qunari, who caught it with ease despite the fact that he’d aimed for his blind spot. 

Josephine chuckled, hiding it behind her hand, and Dorian said something under his breath that sounded like something to do with savages incapable of conducting a meeting in peace. Through it all, Corinne just looked vaguely amused, watching the exchange between the Bull and her cousin with a raised brow and a lopsided grin. 

Leliana cleared her throat pointedly. “Perhaps we could move onto more pressing matters,” she said, her lilting voice showing the slightest hint of annoyance. Cullen had never been more grateful to her. 

Corinne sighed, rolling her head on her shoulders until she caught Leliana’s gaze. “Mmm,” she said, the sound utterly non-committal. “I’m in favour of a break.”

That was clearly not the response anyone had been expecting. “Inquisitor?” Leliana said, surprised. “We have so much to cover from your recent foray into Ferelden-”

“Precisely,” Corinne said. “I’ve got so much to catch up on, and my attention span is only so long.”

Cassandra let out a huff of frustration. “The end of the world does not have a time schedule, Corinne,” she said pointedly. 

“How delightful- then of course the apocalypse won’t mind if I take the time to read some reports at my own pace, rather than be bombarded with too much information too quickly.”

Her words met with bemused mutters from around the table, and Cullen stared blankly ahead and did his best not to pay attention to the glares tossed in his direction. 

“Well, it’s settled then- we shall reconvene tomorrow morning,” Corinne said, pushing up slowly from the table and stretching languidly. “At the very least, it will give our military advisor time to come up to speed and actually have the chance to _advise_.”

She didn’t give anyone the chance to object further, sweeping grandly from the room without any apparent cares in the world. At her exit, the Council and her associates sat in awkward silence for a few long moments, before turning as a one to face him. 

Cullen stiffened, face red. 

“Now, that’s an interesting turn in developments,” Varric mused, rubbing at his chin thoughtfully. 

Cullen stood to leave, doing his best not to catch the gaze of the others, when someone punched him lightly in the arm. “You daft git!” came a voice a moment later, and he fought back a grimace as he turned to find Vilas beside him. “You cost me ten bloody gold pieces!”

He smiled thinly and went back to collecting his papers. “Perhaps the lesson to be learned here is not to waste one’s time or coin on such a wretched vice.”

He scowled at him. “I don’t know what she sees in you,” he said, nose wrinkled in disgust.

The Iron Bull barked out a laugh as he lumbered to his feet. “I tried to explain it to you,” he began, his tone far too innocent.

“Ey, look boyo, I don’t want no more talk about your bloody cock. It ain’t the Maker’s gift to mankind no matter what you say.”

“You wound me, dear Vilas.”

“Oh, I’m about to. And anyway, she-”

“ _If I may_ ,” Cullen said loudly, his tone sharp enough to have the banter die away almost instantly. “There is nothing that Inquisitor Trevelyan sees in me, and I’ll thank you not to insinuate that there is a...” He fumbled for the right word. “ _Fraternization_ going on between us. Our relationship is purely professional.”

“Oh, I get it, completely _professional_ ,” Vilas said slowly, winking extravagantly at him, as if he’d just let him in on some grand secret.

Their laughter rang in his ears long after he’d stomped from the room, fuming quietly to himself. He didn’t know what infuriated him more- their cavalier attitude, or the fact that they found the idea of a woman like Corinne being interested in a man like him amusing. 

As if his pride wasn’t still stinging after her chastisement in the Chantry weeks ago. She had made it abundantly clear that she neither liked him nor trusted him, and it was vaguely sickening to think that their peers interpreted her behaviour to mean she had a romantic interest in him. 

A wild mage and an ex Templar had little in common to begin with, but reading their awkward interactions as flirtations made him immensely uneasy. 

In all, he was glad to have plenty to keep him occupied that day. Less time to sit and brood over the mess that he had accidentally ensnared himself in. 

There were new soldiers to assess, recruits who had followed Corinne back from Ferelden like over-eager puppies. There were quarters to be reassigned- the barracks were fit to bursting- and new supplies to order. New bodies were all well and good, but they helped no one without armour and weapons; he would not throw helpless men and women at their enemies without giving them a damned good fighting chance. 

There were more refugees to consider, and they took a greater share of the food rations each and every day. He lost count of the number of arguments he had with the quartermaster, going backwards and forwards over the supplies needed; he’d been responsible for the logistical management of the Gallows, so he wasn’t out of his depth by any means. But there was a stark difference between maintaining a fixed garrison unconcerned with travel related issues and running an actual army that was in a state of flux every single day. He’d never worried over funding or food in Kirkwall, knowing the Chantry would supply them with their every need. 

Now, with the world falling apart around their ears, every resource was treated like a precious commodity, because who knew when it would next be replenished?

He considered going down to the mess hall for the evening meal, but when he kept finding new excuses to delay leaving his tower he knew that he was stalling deliberately. He still had a quarter loaf of bread on his desk and a small wedge of cheese; granted, the bread was chewy now at several days old and the cheese was sharper in flavour than he preferred, but it was better than nothing.

Better than going down to the keep and trying to smile through the teasing that just left a sour bubble in his stomach, or waiting uneasily to see if Corinne would be there, staring at him with her far too knowledgeable eyes. 

So he stayed in his quarters and supped alone, reading over the seemingly endless stream of reports and reviews and requests and recommendations until his eyes ached, until his ink stained hands shook from exhaustion.

Glancing at the candle to gauge the time, he was startled to see that it had burned past all but one of the hour markings. Leaning back in his chair, wincing at the way his bones cracked loudly at the movement, he looked out the window and sighed in frustration. He hadn’t planned to lose track of the evening so thoroughly, he’d wanted to-

He grimaced and rubbed wearily at his face. He hadn’t _wanted_ to speak to Corinne, but it seemed necessary. He didn’t fancy waiting to see what it would take to try her patience.

Rising to his feet with a groan, Cullen hesitated at the door, wondering whether it was appropriate to call upon her without a coat. He scowled at himself- this wasn’t a social call, and if he was going to worry about his attire, then he’d need to worry about the lot. The ink stains on his hands, his unkempt hair, the stubble prickling at his cheeks...

No. He’d get this damnable confrontation over and done with, and then he could move on. 

The halls were not entirely empty at this hour, and those he did encounter were polite and courteous, nodding their head at him respectfully. He tried to keep to quieter paths, going out of his way to avoid the mess hall where festivities and carousing sometimes carried on into the small hours of the morning, and the library, where teams of scribes and mages seemed to work throughout the night delving through ancient texts in a hope to find more answers about Corinne’s phenomenal new power and the Elder One. 

Neither appealed to him, to be honest, and he didn’t fancy any encounters that might’ve come out of venturing near those parts of the Keep.

Her greenhouse was the one place in all of Skyhold that was completely forbidden to everyone- only those she deemed worthy of an invitation had seen the interior once the builders had finished laying the last pane of glass, and those invitations had been few and far between. It faced south, to take advantage of as many hours of sunlight as possible, tucked into an overhang below the main hall where the rock had worn away through time and water.

Although... he didn’t really understand the extent of her skills, and it honestly wouldn’t surprise him at this point to learn that the space in the rock hadn’t existed prior to her arrival at Skyhold. She seemed to have an uncanny ability to work the world around her to suit her purposes.

More than one Council session had fallen silent because she’d innocently asked how the landscape at a potential battleground could best work to their advantage. They all knew what that meant by now, and he’d learned it was best just to sketch a rough map of the terrain for her to plan ahead.

And he didn’t know what was worse- knowing that she was capable of great acts of power, reshaping the earth and the stone and the woods and the water to craft a battlefield that worked in their favour, or that she seemed not to realise the immensity of the power at her command. 

He came to a stop before the door, his fingers reaching out hesitantly to brush lightly against the thick green glass. If she didn’t want you in there, you couldn’t get in, simple as that. Everyone knew about the kitchenhand who’d thought to make use of the clean soil and convenience of it to pull up what he’d thought were weeds, in order to plant tomato seeds. He’d woken up the next morning a good league away from the keep, his cot suspended from the canopy of the forest by nothing more than a few vines. 

Nobody went into the greenhouse without her invitation. 

He took a deep breath and pressed his hand flat to the glass. It was warm, and despite the late hour he could see a light within, the sharpness dulled by the thickness of the pane. Surely she wouldn’t leave a candle burning amongst her precious plants without supervision? 

Nobody went in without her invitation.

He steeled himself and pushed- and the door opened at his touch.


	2. Chapter 2

A rush of warm air slipped through the open door and over his skin- he was suddenly glad that he hadn’t worn the coat. He hesitated in the doorway, part of him surprised that the door had moved for him. There had been some small part of him that had expected it to be a cruel trick at his expense, mocking him for daring to think a mage would ever extend any level of trust in his direction.

 _Are you a coward now_ , he berated himself, _too frightened to move without the approval of a woman who finds you disdainful?_

He pushed the door open fully and stepped inside, taking a deep breath of the humid air within. There was a wildness to it, like the smell of the forest first thing in the morning after a storm, but far more intense. And beneath it there was something richer, something that hummed along the edge of his awareness like...

... like magic. 

He gritted his teeth, letting the door fall shut behind him. Corinne wasn’t immediately visible- instead he was faced with a wall of greenery, with a handful of pathways trailing off into the darkness. The light that he had spotted through the glass glowed warmly, and with great trepidation he reached out a hand to move aside a branch, heading towards the source. 

A few feet from the door the plant life fell away to reveal a small open area, barely a dozen paces across. There was a large workbench cluttered with a myriad of trinkets and tools, some of which he had no name for, and what looked like a hammock strung between two of the rafters. Corinne had her back to him, humming quietly to herself as she pottered about at the bench; she gave no indication that she knew she wasn’t alone, even though he knew there was no way he could have hidden the sounds of his arrival.

It wasn’t warm enough to make him sweat, but his skin felt clammy.

He waited patiently for her to acknowledge him, and then impatiently when she continued to ignore him. Her humming grated on his already raw nerves and he finally cleared his throat noisily to announce his presence. 

She still didn’t turn to greet him.

It was all he could do not to throw his arms up in the air in frustration. “Was there a need to goad me in front of the rest of your retinue?” he asked loudly, folding his arms across his chest- partially to convey an air of control and irritation if she did deign to look at him, and partially to hide the fact that his hands were shaking once again. 

She finally looked up from her workbench, where she was in the process of repotting a collection of saplings; there was a smear of dirt across her forehead and her arms were filthy. Well, one of her arms was filthy- the other, the one with the branded palm that marked her as the Herald of Andraste, was encased in a stiff, unwielding glove. He suspected it might have been drakescale, but all he knew was that Corinne had consulted extensively with Solas when she’d crafted it. 

There was a faint green glow beneath the cuff of the glove, where it sat snugly around her forearm, but other than that she’d managed to contain the magic within. 

She stared at him for a moment, as if she _was_ actually surprised to see him, and then she grinned. “I was beginning to wonder if you were going to come and see me at all,” she said, carefully patting down the soil in the tiny pots. “These aren’t exactly normal business hours.”

“I would have kept walking if you weren’t up and about,” he said, shrugging uncomfortably. “And I’ve hardly had a chance to... discuss your proposition, as it were.”

She tsked loudly. “So serious,” she said in a deep grouchy voice that he assumed was meant to mimic his own. “There’s nothing really to discuss-”

“I’d disagree with that- you haven’t told me why you want to see me. You only indicated that you were aware of my...” He grimaced. “My _problems_ , and that I should come to see you. You gave no reason as to why you wanted me here.”

“Perhaps I want to study you,” she said mysteriously, wagging the fingers of her free hand in his direction. He scowled in response. “Or perhaps I’m simply of the opinion that given I am aware that a problem exists for someone under my care, and it is within my power to correct that problem, I have a duty and a responsibility to tend to it.”

He felt an unpleasant pang in his chest- _someone under my care_. Neither of his previous commanding officers had ever been invested in his welfare. As long as he was able to perform his duties and remain upright for his shifts, there had been a rather stifling atmosphere that encouraged one to keep one’s personal concerns, well, personal. Meredith had made vague queries towards his mental health when she’d first promoted him to Knight Captain, and that had been more out of concern that he would not adequately be able to inspire the men and women in their duties. 

He’d never had someone offer to help him just because they _could_.

He cleared his throat, feeling peculiarly vulnerable. “I... that is a kind gesture,” he said awkwardly, “but unnecessary.”

She scooped up an armful of the tiny pots and cast him a strange look. “Walk with me,” she said, a command and not a request. He hesitated only momentarily before following after her, ducking under an overhanging branch and heading into the depths of the greenhouse.

It was warm in here, and his lyrium honed senses tingled with the presence of magic. It seemed bigger in here than it did from the outside, more spacious, and he did not know whether it was a trick of the moonlight and the shadows, or whether she’d worked some devilry on the space. 

Were there eyes watching from beneath the leaves, or was that simply his paranoia? 

It was not neat and orderly as he had expected, no neat cultivated rows of sprouting greenery; she seemed to have transplanted a section of the forest directly into the keep, complete with twisting paths that dipped beneath his feet when he wasn’t paying attention. 

He stumbled in the darkness and would’ve fallen, if she had not turned at precisely that moment with an arm out to stop him. Her hand- the gloved one- was flat against his chest as he staggered into her, but even though he had a good few inches on her, he did not send her tumbling to the ground. Instead she kept him upright, even as his arms came up to grab at her to help regain his balance. 

His heart was drumming in his ears, that lurching moment of adrenalin when he’d stumbled still making him dizzy- and it took him a moment to realise that he was standing in the dark with his arms around her, close enough that her arm was all but pinned between them. She glanced up at him from beneath her dishevelled hair, brows quirked and a grin on her face, dark eyes dancing in the moonlight, and for a brief moment he felt-

-something he had not expected to feel. 

His stomach lurched and he straightened, arms falling away as if she had burned him. Corinne stayed in place, the question and the laughter still in her face; she did not seem offended in the slightest by his reaction, only amused. 

“I...” He swallowed uneasily. “I apologise. That was-”

“An accident?” she offered, turning back to where- he blinked, surprised- the pots she’d been carrying a moment earlier were lined up neatly on a waiting leaf, the span of it nearly as wide across as the length of his forearm. There was no way a leaf could support the weight of a half dozen little pots full of soil, but his eyes did not lie; Corinne scooped them up with a smile, murmuring softly into the greenery and the leaf sprung back into place once the weight was gone from its surface. At his wary expression, she scrunched up her nose, that same mysterious gesture she’d made towards Vivienne earlier today. “Fear not, Commander, I’m not in the habit of thinking that tripping over one’s feet is a hideous lapse in character.” 

He reddened and looked away. “Is there a reason we are hidden in the depths of your greenhouse in the middle of the night?”

The look of amusement in her eyes faded and she turned, stopping a few feet further down the path before a patch of open soil on a ledge at hip height. She didn’t answer him for a long few moments, and he began to wonder whether she meant not to answer him at all.

“Why is it unnecessary,” she said finally, frowning in concentration as she dug out a space in the soil for her tiny pots, “for me to take an interest in your health and wellbeing?”

He crossed his arms and leaned up against a nearby retaining wall, flinching when he felt something touch his cheek until he realised it was a vine. He batted it away with one hand, pretending he didn’t see it from the corner of his vision creeping back towards his hair. “I didn’t say it was unnecessary,” he said, trying to get his argument in order.

“I’m sorry but that was precisely what you said,” she said. “You said that you were grateful, but it was unnecessary.”

“I said that your _help_ was unnecessary- I didn’t meant that I wasn’t comfortable with you expressing your concern.”

She cast him a withering glance, then paused. She looked just past his shoulder and made a flicking gesture with her hand- the vine retreated, and did not attempt to creep closer again. “You are- what’s the expression?- splitting hairs, Commander. If I’m concerned about you, I’m not allowed to express that concern? I’m to make a passing reference to it and then move on, as if it were no more pressing a topic than discussing last night’s supper?”

It was what he had expected, to be honest. It was what he had lived these past ten years. As long as he was at his post, and coherent, there wasn’t a problem to be addressed. When he didn’t answer her, she made a noise of frustration and continued.

“And do you not acknowledge that you would perform your duties much better if you were in better physical and mental health?”

“I perform my duties adequately, and if you have any found fault with my performance-”

“You were just about _asleep_ in the Council meeting today,” she said pointedly, looking at him as if she didn’t know whether to laugh or fetch him some water and a place to sit. “Tell me, how do you classify that as adequate, by any stretch of the imagination?”

“That was a momentary lapse brought on by excessive distraction-”

“When was the last time you _slept_ , Cullen?” she said, rounding on him. She crossed her arms too, mimicking the aggressiveness of his posture. “Don’t give me bullshit- I don’t mean an hour or two snatched here or there. When was the last time you actually slept, seven hours or more, and felt rested when you woke?”

Far too long. “I’m not in the habit of documenting my sleeping patterns,” he said instead.

“I suppose it’s too much to ask if you’ve _documented_ your night terrors too.”

She was one step short of snarling- he’d never heard her be anything other than genial, but this anger was new and terrifying. A mage with a temper was one of the few things that made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end.

Corinne was no different. 

“So let’s see how much I can guess- there’s the insomnia, that’s a given, as are the night terrors.” She counted it off on her fingers. “A long term lack of sleep can lead to several problems, including a lack of concentration and a lowering of your mental faculties. It increases your blood pressure, headaches...”

She stared pointedly at him. “More noticeable symptoms include shaking of the hands...”

He scowled at her and tucked his hands tight under his arms. 

Corinne kept going. “Swelling in the joints and bone decay, false memory development, depression-”

“Alright, alright!” he snapped, ashamed and horrified to hear her list it all so plainly. “Did you have a point?” 

She shrugged, her eyes still simmering under the moonlight, something intensely predatory in the barely restrained anger. “I had more than that, because I don’t doubt there’s more you’re not admitting to, but I’ll leave it be for now.”

He took a slow breath, unsure whether it was a concession on her part or not. “I didn’t think you were a healer.”

“See, that’s a problem with locking your mages away and trying to segment them into neat little boxes- things must be in order, things must make sense, so _this_ mage must only be _this_ and _that_ mage must only be _that_. _Schools_ of magic, as if magic were not a living breathing part of the world that pulses and responds to our touch.” She rolled her eyes at the way his jaw clenched. “Fine- in your understanding of things, I’m _not_ a healer. That does not mean I don’t have a grasp of the body and how it functions and what can happen when it is not cared for.”

“Why do you _care?_ ” he snarled, frustration and fear warring within him and wearing him to a thin edge. “Why does it even _bother_ you how I conduct myself? You as much as said a month ago that you cannot trust me, so why the intense investment in my welfare?”

“Why are you so violently opposed to someone being invested in your welfare? Why can you not accept that sometimes it’s not an act of perfidy for someone to be concerned about you, and just an act of kindness?”

The words were out of him before he could stop them. “Since when has a mage ever acted in good faith?” he hissed, hands clenching into fists at his side. 

The fire went out of her instantly, the anger sizzling and seeping away; in its place was not the hurt he had expected, but a weary sort of sadness. As if she had known what his answer would inevitably be, but had still spent hours arguing with herself about the outcome. 

“I cannot undo the pain that you have endured, Cullen, but I cannot offer you an alternative experience if you will not allow it.” She nodded her head towards him. “That said, I accept your refusal on the matter.”

He relaxed his fists with difficulty, something new sneaking through his veins to replace the anger- shame? “I appreciate your understanding,” he said gruffly, unsure of what else he could possibly say to her. 

“It’s to be expected, I suppose- I’m the woman your teachings have told you is the worst possible threat imaginable, after all,” she said, bending to touch her fingers to a fern that was showing signs of wilt. At the brush of her skin it perked up instantly, uncoiling and extending its fronds in delight, brighter and more vibrant than any of the plants around it. He saw her lips moving as she whispered to it, her hand stroking along the underside; it was such a peculiarly intimate moment, and he felt like he was intruding. “I’m a mage without a leash, unwatched and untamed.”

He swallowed. “If you are attempting to goad me into decrying your very existence, I would ask you to desist. It serves no purpose to either of us- I have sworn my loyalty to you, and I intend to hold to that vow, and you have conceded to my personal boundaries. We’ve reached a comfortable accord.”

“Do I make you uncomfortable, Commander?”

“Only when you poke and pry at me, to see if there are gaps in my armour to dig through.”

She smiled, broad and lopsided. “My questions about your loyalty discomforts you?” she asked, wiping her hands on her breeches as she stood.

He fought the urge to roll his eyes. “Is this a game, Corinne? Are we to go in circles endlessly until I lose my patience and my temper, simply so that you can be proven right?”

“No,” she said, climbing up onto a retaining wall and over the first row of plants, stopping beside a sapling that showed recent evidence of grafting attempts. Her fingers ran slowly over the bark, a look of absent concentration on her face. “In truth, I find words tiresome. Words can be twisted and untruthful, their meaning manipulated and misinterpreted. I find that one's actions are a far greater indication of one’s true feelings.”

When he didn’t answer, she glanced over at him through the branches, and laughed. “So _suspicious_ , Commander,” she teased.

“If I’m to call you Corinne, you really should call me Cullen. And is there a reason why I _shouldn’t_ be suspicious?”

“That’s up to you, _Cullen_ ,” she said, amusement in her tone as she swung down from the ledge, landing lightly on the cobbled floor of the greenhouse in front of him. “You’ve come to a place that is a wellspring of power for me, at a time when you are at your most vulnerable, to ask for my help even though you’ve now turned it down.” That lopsided smile of hers was infectious, and it made him want to smile in return. “You have walked into the lair of a wild mage, alone, and offered me your name.”

He blinked, and the enormity of his actions suddenly came into stark relief for him. 

“Actions speak louder than words,” she said softly, a knowing glint in her eyes. “It might not be loyalty, as you insist, but certainly curiosity and desperation has led you to me... whatever that might entail.” 

He breathed out slowly, very aware of the magic prickling in the air and the way it swum and seethed around her. He had made a grave mistake indeed. “Are you trying to frighten me, Corinne?” he asked softly.

She let the humour drop away from her eyes and stared up at him solemnly. “This is who I am, Cullen,” she said, just as quietly. “I am a mage, and a free one at that, and I would not trade any of it for the world. And you...” She licked her lips, almost uneasy. “You are one of the few people in this keep who poses a genuine threat to me. I do not deny that part of my interest in you might be simply an interest in self-preservation, but...”

His throat suddenly felt dry. “But?” he rasped.

“But if you and I are to work together in a long term capacity, we need more than professional courtesy- we need trust.” She took a deep breath. “And in case it hadn’t occurred to you, if you were to be in peak physical and mental health, you would be a far greater threat to me than you are now.”

When he only stared at her blankly, she attempted that odd lopsided smile of hers. “You would be off the leash, Cullen,” she said, almost teasingly, referencing their first conversation in the Chantry. “I’m offering you an advantage over me, because I need you to trust me. And I’m hoping my trust in you won’t be misplaced, because if I’m wrong about you, everyone will suffer.”

He felt like the world was trying to sneak out from under his feet- she was standing too close and her words were too cloying, too practised-

_-mages are not like you and I-_

-it was too much too quickly.

“I... I need to go,” he said, horrified to hear his voice shaking. He stumbled back a step, and she didn’t try to stop him. The path before him was clear, the plants all discreetly pulling away from being in his way.

He could just walk out.

He got a half dozen steps, breathing heavily as he felt the hints of a panic attack nipping at his heels. His heart was pounding in his ears like a war drum as he staggered to a stop. He couldn’t bring himself to turn around. “Corinne,” he whispered, unsure of what he even wanted to ask her.

“There’s a small flask sitting on the corner of my work bench,” she called quietly after him. “It will help you sleep, and it will keep most of the dreams away.”

His tongue felt a dozen times too big for his mouth. “I-”

“Just don’t smell it first. I can’t fix that.”

“How did you know?”

She was quiet for a long moment, before she sighed. There was a change in the air, a change in the magic, and it brushed against the back of his neck like a lover’s breath. “I didn’t,” she said softly. “I just wanted to give you the chance to choose for yourself.”

The plants stayed politely out of his way as he stumbled towards the door, and he nearly dropped the tiny flask in his haste to grab it and be on his way. She didn’t call after him, didn’t jest or beg him to stay or call a challenge after him; she let him go, let him walk away from the centre of her power with the knowledge that she had offered to put herself at his mercy. 

He took the flask and called himself a coward all the way back to his quarters.


End file.
